Happy Xmas
by niffler09
Summary: On Christmas morning, Sherlock discovers that John's bought him a present. Sherlock has nothing in return. What's a man to do?


It was a very ordinary morning at first. Granted, it was Christmas, but Sherlock woke at the crack of dawn, as he always did, his brain marvellously rested and ready for the challenges of the day. Still in bed, he checked his mobile for new messages and the latest news and skimmed a bit through a Chemistry journal before he eventually got up, put on his dressing gown and went downstairs, everything perfectly as usual.

When he came into the living room, however, an unusual sight made him stop dead in his tracks.

A lumpy something wrapped in Christmas paper and way too much sellotape sat on the table, right next to his laptop, a post-it that read "HAPPY X-MAS. J." attached to it. Sherlock cautiously approached the thing and stared at it in bewilderment for a second before he got it.

John had given him a Christmas present.

Oh.

All of a sudden, he could feel warmth spread inside his chest. John had given him a Christmas present! He smiled as he bent down to take a closer look, challenging himself to deduce what was inside merely by the way it looked. As soon as he'd come to his conclusion, he took the gift in his hand and judged its weight, then he lifted it to his ear and shook it a bit, listening closely to the light rattle that came from inside.

Yes, just what he'd suspected.

He held it out in front of him and looked at it again, grinning widely. John was a marvel, how had he even managed to get his hands on one of those?

He was right in the middle of his next deduction when a thought struck him that made his smile waver. He didn't have a present for John. He hadn't expected to get something to begin with, and to be honest, his head had been so full with other things that he'd not spared a single thought on something like Christmas presents. Mycroft always bought the one for Mummy and all he had to do was sign the card that went with it. But John, John was his responsibility. Not getting him anything in return after he'd made such an effort was... not good.

Suddenly, he wasn't so happy about the present anymore. He laid it back on the table and stared at it as he started to rack his brains what gift he could possibly organize in the short amount of time before John would get up. He still had the eyeball with the tri-coloured iris somewhere at the back of the freezer but something told him that John wouldn't really appreciate it. The DNA sample they'd found on the scene of the Huntington murders, maybe? No, better not. John may be a doctor but strangely enough he wasn't very interested in human remains. What was it people traditionally gave for Christmas? Food? He could invite him to Angelo's, but then he did that most of times so it wasn't anything special anymore. No, people expected something _emotional_ for Christmas, something that told them that the giver had put some thought into it, didn't they.

Footsteps from above told him that John had woken up at last and was shuffling towards the bathroom.

Damn. He needed something, and quickly. He looked about the flat, eyes wildly roaming the shelves and surfaces, when the window caught his attention. He froze, then stepped closer. A very fine drizzle of snowflakes was tumbling from the sky. By the look of it, it had snowed all night, a good three inches already covered windowsills, pavements and parked cars, the white blanket mostly pristine thanks to it being still early in the day.

An idea struck him. He dashed into the hallway, put on shoes, coat and scarf and ran outside.

* * *

By the time he was back, John was in the kitchen, pouring himself a cup of coffee.

"Morning," he said, looking not quite awake yet in his pyjamas and wildly tousled hair.

Sherlock gave him a nod and removed the scarf from around his neck. "Good morning, John."

"Been out already?" John asked as he sat down on the kitchen table and took a sip from his mug.

"Briefly." Sherlock replied and slowly drew nearer, still clad in his snow-covered coat and fiddling with his scarf. "Uhm... I found your present and I wanted to say: Thank you."

John gave him a smile. "You're welcome. I hope you like it."

"I do. I mean, I haven't opened it yet but... I do. Anyway, yours is outside." Sherlock gestured towards the window.

John followed the movement of Sherlock's hand and frowned. "It's... outside?"

"Yes, I couldn't get it in here, I'm afraid, but you can look at it from the window."

John looked slightly bewildered, but he set down his mug, got up from the table and made his way across the living room.

Sherlock hurried after him, still fidgeting with his scarf. Maybe it had been a stupid idea. What if John didn't like it? He bit his lip as he stood next to John at the window, anxiously watching John's face when he pulled back the curtains.

"You made a snow angel for me?" John asked incredulously. "On the pavement?"

Oh dear - just as he'd feared.

"I know, it's not much and it's a bit infantile but I thought..." Sherlock began to ramble but John cut him off.

"It's perfect."

There was a brief pause.

"Really?" Sherlock eventually asked, eying John closely to detect possible hints of a joke, but his smile seemed quite genuine.

"Yes," John said before he looked back outside. "I haven't seen one of those in 20 years, brings back memories. And no one's ever made one just for me so it's something special. Besides," he turned to Sherlock again, "working with you, I occasionally do need an angel, you know."

The remark made Sherlock shuffle his feet sheepishly but John just huffed a laugh and gave Sherlock a tight hug.

"Thank you. It's a great present." he said before he planted a kiss square on Sherlock's lips.

Sherlock was taken aback for a second, but then he wrapped his arms around John and kissed him back, finally convinced that he'd got it right.

For a moment the snowy world around them was forgotten, as were the presents, because all that mattered were the two of them, the soft touch of lips, the familiar smell, and the feeling of closeness and warmth between them.

Even after their lips had parted they stayed embraced.

"Merry Christmas, John." Sherlock mumbled in John's hair, the blond strands tickling his cheek.

"And to you, Sherlock." John retorted somewhere at Sherlock's shoulder.

When they eventually loosened their grasps, they exchanged another slow and tender kiss. Then they turned back towards the window, arms still wrapped casually around each other, and for a while all they did was stare down at the peaceful figure in the snow together.


End file.
